


old souls, new beginnings

by iesha



Category: Voltron - Fandom, Voltron: Legendary Defender, vld - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anyways, FIRST STORY ON AO3 LETS GOOOO, For the Shance Year!, Highly inspired by the legend of achilles and patroclus, M/M, SPOILER: Shiro dies but not really?, Shance Year: New Beginnings, Year of Shance 2019, i hope you all enjoy!, plus i thought of this during my GRST class, these two boys have been in love for a long long time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 07:19:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17596874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iesha/pseuds/iesha
Summary: Love can bring even gods to their knees.[[In which Shiro and Lance fall in love during a historic war only for it to fall apart at the very end. Years later, they're given a second chance.]](for the Year of Shance!)





	old souls, new beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This was my submission for the Year of Shance! The prompt for January was 'New Beginnings', so what better way to start things off than with a good ol' soulmates au? I really hope you guys enjoyed it!
> 
> **I apologize for any errors in grammar or spelling, it is very late and i typed this out asap because i didnt want to lose the idea

_ “I believe that two people are connected at the heart, and it doesn't matter what you do, or who you are or where you live; there are no boundaries or barriers if two people are destined to be together.” _

\- Julia Roberts

 

**1250 BCE**

 

There was a man dying on the battlefield. A man with snow white hair and fair eyes to match; whose appearance drew attention when he was able to walk freely. A man whose virtue outshone his brute. 

 

There was a man with snow white hair and fair eyes to match, and he was dying on a battlefield. 

 

His hair was no longer white, but stained with the soil of Troy and the crimson of his blood. His eyes were still fair, but no longer was the world they were seeing. He could hear the cries of the cavalry around him, voices of allies and foes no longer distinguished. 

 

There was an knife in his arm, he could feel it ripping through his muscles when he moved, could feel the blood that dribbled down his arm too. 

 

He took in a staggering breath, cursing the world and its cruelty. He could feel the gentle fingers of his lover on the wound, letting his blood pool into his cupped hands as he desperately tried to stop the bleeding. 

 

“ _ Stop _ ,” his breath rattled in his lungs. “ _ Ble mátia agóri _ ,  _ stop.” _

 

There was blood smeared on his brown skin, his hair whipping wildly in the wind, no longer contained by his helmet. “But-” He paused, tears flowing down his cheeks (his fingers vibrated with the memory of smooth skin), his breath coming in short and violent stops. “ _ You’re dying,  _ agápi mou.” His tears were strangling him, the two of them could hear it in his voice. “ _ My love.”  _ Fluid fell from his eyes, trailing to his chin, where it collected before dropping away. 

 

The man laying on the battlefield could feel himself losing feeling in his limbs, but he still felt the pressure of the younger man’s head hitting his breastplate. His own eyes dampened, his heart hammering painfully as the sounds slowly faded away from around him. 

 

“ _ Look at me, _ ” He wheezed, his non-injured hand coming up to weakly raise the boy’s face. The war was harsh on his features; a bruise claimed its spot above his eyebrow, his beautiful eyes puffy and red with tears, his nose running with fluid, blood staining his cheeks. “ _ Dry your eyes. It is done, there’s nothing left for you to try.” _

 

_ “Why must you leave me?”  _ His blue-eyed boy whispered, voice cracking. “ _ What am I to do?”  _

 

The other man’s weak hand trailed from his jaw down to his arms, feeling his skin - rough with warfare - beneath his fingers for the last time. 

 

“ _Remember the moments we spent together. Hidden in rose bushes, under the mighty sky._ _The gods favour you. Live assured that you are taken care of. Live knowi -”_ He took in a laboured breath. “ _Live knowing that_ I _watch over you. Live on.”_

 

His vision was fading. He made a quick prayer to Ares, thanking him for lending him the strength needed to lead the attack. Then he prayed to Aphrodite, to look out the boy he had fallen deeply in love with, to shower him with affection no matter where he went. 

 

_ Please, goddess,  _ he pleaded,  _ watch over him.  _

 

There was a man with snow white hair and fair eyes, and he was dying on a battlefield, in the arms of a young man he had only met a few months prior. 

 

There was a man dying on a battlefield, in the arms of his lover, a drop of tragedy surrounded by a sea of them. 

 

As his heart pulsed through its final beat, and his lungs filled with their final breath, the gods took pity on these humans, and carved a path for the hero’s soul to the Underworld, straight to Elysium. 

 

And Aphrodite herself cleared the skies and had blessed the lives of the lover left behind to be filled with love, as per his lover’s wish. 

 

The man died on a battlefield in the arms of his lover, their named unknown to us, but their love unforgettable. 

  
  


**Present-day**

 

Lance had always known the feeling of loneliness well. It lingered in his bones, that hollow feeling in his chest, the heaviness in his lungs. 

 

It was maddening, how well that feeling worked against him, when his reality told him otherwise. He had a group of good friends,  _ loving  _ friends; friends that he saw regularly and laughed uncontrollably. There had not been one day where Lance woke up and wished things were different with them. He considered himself lucky, really. Their company, however, was a temporary solution to a seemingly terminal condition. His happiness lasted as long as they were in his periphery, and fleeted as soon as he was again left in silence. 

 

His heart was being filled, constantly, but it was  _ never enough.  _ It never felt like enough. Why wasn’t it enough? 

 

Why did it feel like there was something more out there? Some _ one  _ more?

 

He could feel the yearning in his heart, sometimes. Feel it pulling him towards odd spaces and ideas. 

 

His favourite colour was white; he could not say why, since he grew up the flurry of colours that comprised of Cuba. He fell oddly in love with the colour of his eyes, ocean blue, and men who appeared unordinary. 

 

He felt drawn to the lands of Greece and its surrounding islands, despite having no interest in its history. He could feel the ghost of a hand on his cheek but could not name who it belonged to. 

 

_ Find it,  _ his heart told him.  _ Follow it.  _

  
  


His heart took him to a rose garden in Rome, a few months later. 

 

The heat was familiar to his skin. Something about the cobbled streets felt like home, even when it was packed with tourists and street vendors calling out to foreigners. 

 

_ Yes,  _ Lance’s mind felt awake for the first time in his life.  _ Yes! This is where I’m supposed to be.  _

 

His happiness showed on his face, glowing and attracting more than one interested side-eye. He weaved through the ground, clutching onto the sun hat on his head to keep it from flying away, and let his feet take him wherever they felt like. 

 

Soon, he was seated on a metal table, outside a cafe surrounded by a field of roses, feeling as if this was what he was missing his entire life. The sun, the laughter, the aroma of flowers,  _ the peace in his mind.  _

 

His hat sat low on his head, covering most of his face when Shiro brought him his drink. 

 

He set the cold glass on the table gently, reading from his small notepad. “One caffe shakerato for…” Shiro paused, feeling a current run through his core. “L-Lance.” Shiro blinked, as he was filled by that feeling you get when you’re at the right place at the right time. 

 

Shiro cleared his throat, eyes travelling to the tan man lounging contently on the chair. “For Lance McClain.”

 

And Lance felt the way he said his name travel over his skin. He knew that feeling, couldn’t place why, but he just knew it existed. He raised his eyes towards the stranger, a thin hand coming up to lift the hat off of his head. 

 

Shiro saw the blue eyes first. He couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe. His stump twitched, his muscles remembering something his mind didn’t. 

 

Lance himself was frozen in awe at the sight of the man with snow white hair and fair eyes. His heart was clenching painfully, telling him something he didn’t understand. Lance could feel the ghost of warm fingers on his skin. Could feel that last hole in his heart being filled. 

 

It took Shiro some time to produce coherent words. “Sorry, but I… Do I… Do I know you?” And his voice was so gentle Lance thought he was going to start crying. 

 

“I-I don’t think so…” Lance was still staring, his voice quivering ever so slightly. He gulped, and tried for a smile. “Do you want to sit?” He motioned towards the empty chair in front of him. 

 

Calm dripped down Shiro’s shoulders as he nodded. “I’d love to.”

  
  


The year was 2019. Two-thousand and nineteen. Their names were Takashi Shirogane and Lance McClain, and their story was one which consisted of a blue eyed boy falling in love with a man with snow white hair and fair eyes in the middle of a rose garden. Somewhere down the line of time, they were gazing at stars and stealing glances in the midst of a historic war.

 

And now they were here; two old lovers in Rome, staring at a new beginning. 


End file.
